May 30th
by raiseitdonger
Summary: Canada decides to visit France, but when he gets there, France isn't his normal, cheerful self because of a lost love. One-shot. FrancexJoan of arc and FrancexCanada.


**A/N: Angsty story is angsty. Yeah. I hope it's not too cheesy. **

* * *

><p>Every year, on the same day, I always have that dream. It was years ago… why can't I get over it…?<p>

* * *

><p>Canada awoke early that day, before the sun was up in the sky. The date was May 30th, a day he hated. About this time, summer vacation was starting in America, and without fail he would bring many obnoxious tourists to Canada with him. Regardless, Canada still loved his brother; but he saw no point to being a host for his brother while America did nothing but mess up the place and forget who lived there. Instead, he decided to visit France.<p>

"Honestly, he's the only one who ever remembers my name." Canada said with a sigh as he sat up in bed. The bear that slept at the foot of his bed awoke at the sound.

"Who are you again?" He asked.

"I'm Canada!" Canada replied. "Not that it matters. You'll forget that in a second huh, Kumakichi?"

"Kumajirou." Kumajirou responded, curling up and falling asleep again. Canada strolled over to the dresser and searched through the clothing for some clothes to take with him.

"It will be a lot warmer there…" He mumbled to himself. "All I have are hoodies and sweaters." Finally he found a long, white tee-shirt, which was much too big for him. _America must have left this the last time he hung out, _Canada assumed. With nothing else to choose from, he put it on. It was long enough to go past his knees and shorts, and made it look like he was wearing a small dress. "Wow, America's tall… and fat." He packed a few other things; but he wouldn't be staying with France for too long. "Hey, Kumakitsu! You want to come with me?"

"Some people are trying to sleep!" Kumajirou complained.

"Fine, stay here. Make sure America doesn't destroy everything." Canada shut the door behind him and went on his way.

* * *

><p><em>She smiled at me with radiant blue eyes… How I loved those eyes that shimmered like the sea. We were standing alone in a lush, green valley. Based on the looks of the place, it was long before either World War, or anything like that. She giggle and grabbed my wrist, pulling me along with her as she ran through the colorful flowers that would eventually inspire artists like Monet to create their most beautiful masterpieces. But the only flower I cared about was her. <em>

_We eventually chose a small spot under a tree to sit down and have a small picnic. Today was her birthday- a day she and many others had overlooked due to the chaos. I had gotten her a simple gift- a hair clip with a clover on it. Even though it was such a plain trinket, she blushed as I placed it in her shiny, blonde hair. _

"_Tu as tres belle. (You are very beautiful)" I told her as she tried to compose herself. _

"_Ah…. Merci beaucoup. (Thank you very much)" She replied. "France… have you ever wanted a name?" _

"_Hm? Where did this come from?" _

"_Je ne sais pas… (I don't know) I just want to have something more common to call you by. Do you have a name?" I placed hand on my chin in thought. _

"_I never really cared enough." I said finally. "You can think of a name for me, if you would be so kind." She stared up at the clouds for a moment before finally smiling back at me. _

"_Tu t'apple Francis Bonnefoy. (You are called Francis Bonnefoy.)" She said. _

"_I like it." I replied. "Francis Bonnefoy… Francis Bonnefoy." While I was talking, she pulled out a bouquet of roses and handed them to me, shakily. _

"_I didn't know what to get you… I do hope this works. I was unsure of what a nation would want." _

"_You didn't have to get me anything; it's not my birthday." _

"_Oui, je sais (yes, I know)… but I feel bad. You always bring me such extravagant gifts when we meet up." I chuckled. It was funny that the things I thought were basic and ordinary were gorgeous and brilliant in her eyes. It just showed how different our lives were, her being a poor girl form the country side, and I being a nation, pampered from birth. _

"_Well, they're lovely." I said, taking in their scent. I pulled one out and placed it in her hair. "But, you are the prettiest rose here." _

"_Merci, Francis!" She said, her face the colour of a rose. "But I must be going now. Au revoir!" She kissed both my cheeks then ran away into the distance. I sighed and stared at the bouquet solemnly. _

"_Dear lord," I began, putting my hands together into a prayer. "Make sure she stays safe. Please… I care about her very much. Amen." _

* * *

><p>Canada got off the plane, exhausted from the flight. <em>Why is there always one crying baby on the plane, <em>he wondered as he went to get his bags. _And when the jet lag kicks in, it's going to be bad… _He smiled anyways. If he was going to drop in for a surprise visit, he might as well act happy. And France always helped cheer him up.

_Wow, all of these people are so elegant… _Canada thought as he walked down the street. He admired all of their fashionable outfits, and for the first time ever, he felt as if he were standing out. But not in a good way. People were glancing at him, wondering what gender he was, and others walked away in disgust muttering "American."

"I'm Canadian…" Canada mumbled submissively. "Ignore it. Just hurry to France's house and you can get something else to wear." He made his way down the busy, city streets, glancing at all of the quaint cafes and fancy shops. _It's changed a lot since the last time I've been here, _Canada thought, _I hope France hasn't changed too much. _He giggled. _I doubt it. He was a flirt even when he was raising me. _

Canada strolled down the street, thinking of all of the things he would do once he got to France's house. _He'd probably give me some gaudy outfit to wear. Then he'd probably make some delicious food like pain au chocolat or quiche. Afterwards he'll probably go on and on about how England keeps causing him problems. _Canada smiled. He would never admit it, but the thing he was looking the most forward to was hearing France say his name. He was the only one who ever remembered it.

* * *

><p><em>I walked shakily towards the centre of the abandoned execution cite. Ashes were scattered all over the ground, turning everything it touched the colour of ebony. I was wearing some fancy white shoes that I had recently purchased, but I didn't give a damn that they were becoming soiled. I was far too fixated with the scene that lay in front of me. Up ahead there was the remains of a stake and blackened pieces of wood. The air around me smelt of charred human flesh, and it was almost enough to make me gag. <em>

_This is the spot where my beloved was excited just hours before. I couldn't bare to watch the brutal ceremony. It was just too cruel. They called her a witch, threw things at her, humiliated her… _

"_C'est horrible. (It's horrible)" I muttered as I reached the stake. Below it was a large pile of ashes. They weren't hers; those British bastards didn't even bother giving her a proper burial. They just threw her into the Seine, never to be spoken of again. I finally fell to my knees and sobbed, the tears soaking the ashes that now covered my body. _

"_I'll never forgive that British bastard…" I cursed, slamming my fist to the ground. I winced when it hit something hard and metal. I curiously sifted through the rubble and pulled out a small, metal cross. "So the rumors were true." I said, admiring it. I had heard that she had clutched a crucifix in her very last moments, praying to god. _

"_DAMN YOU!" I shrieked, throwing it to the ground as hard as I could. It landed with a harsh clang, and I had bent it. I stared up at the sky in anger. "How could you… how could the god she worked the hard for, the god she had so much faith in…" I was sobbing hysterically, trying to get my thoughts together with little success. "How could you do this to her! She did nothing but follow your instructions day after day and this…this is how you repay her? You cruel bastard!" I, too was wearing a golden crucifix around my neck. With a single pull, I ripped it from my neck and threw it on the ground. _

_What now? What could I possibly do now? My beloved was dead, the war was slowly spiraling downward, and there was nothing I could do about it. I could assist in the battles, but I couldn't die. I could only watch as my comrades and friends died around me. Thoughtlessly, I buried my hands in the ashes that lay all around me. My fingers hit something small and metal. I quickly picked it up and pulled it up to my tear-streaked face to get a better look. There, tucked in between my fingers was a small clip with a clover on it. The only thing that remains of her. _

* * *

><p>"Finally…" Canada said. "I'm here." The address and the house hadn't changed since the last time he had been here. France lived in an enormous mansion made of shiny, white bricks with old vines growing on the walls. <em>Just like Madeline, <em>Canada thought as he stepped through the gate into the front yard. He had a gargantuan garden full of irises, tulips, daisies, carnations and roses of all colours. It was like walking through a rainbow.

"If only I could have a garden like this at my house." Canada sighed. "It's always too cold." He walked to the large, wooden front door. Wielded to it were two golden knockers with the words "Viva la France" engraved upon them. Canada clutched the golden ring and swung it down three times.

Canada waited for a few minutes in awkward silence, hoping that France was home. Just when he was about to knock again, he heard some frantic scrambling behind the door.

"Un moment, sil vous plait! (one moment, please)" France shouted from inside. He sounded flustered, which was very out of character for him.

"It's fine." Canada replied. France finally swung the door open in an undignified manner.

"I was still asleep…" France said, his hand covering his eyes. "Desole. (sorry)"

"It's fine… I didn't mean to wake you, France." Canada said meekly. He noticed that France was still in his baggy pajamas, and his hair was tied in a messy ponytail, with random blonde strands hanging down over his face. _I've never seen France like this before, _Canada thought to himself. _It's strange. He usually looks so chic. _France pulled out his ponytail and finally looked at Canada. His eyes were red and swollen, as if he had been sobbing.

"France… are you alright? Your eyes are all red. Do you have a fever?" Canada reached forward and placed his hand on France's forehead. He didn't reply, but simply stared back as if in awe. "France? Can you hear me?" Suddenly France paled and began to cry hysterically, speaking French so rapidly that Canada couldn't figure out what he was saying. "France! Uh… what's wrong? Please, tell me!" France wrapped his arms tightly around the nervous Canadian and sobbed into his shoulder.

"Tu as… tu as ici… (You are… you are here)" France murmured.

"Quoi ?(what) I'm here? Yeah… I came to visit." Canada replied, unsure of what to say or even what was going on.

"Jeanne… Jeanne… I've missed you…" France continued, ignoring him.

"Jeanne? No, I'm Canada!" Canada replied. France stopped and pulled away.

"That's right…" He wiped his eyes. "I'm so sorry. Of course; you are Canada. I'm seeing things. Come on in." France walked Canada in silently, too depressed to be embarrassed about what he had done. "Please, make yourself at home. I need to compose of myself." He walked upstairs and left Canada alone in the living room.

"I should go help him…" Canada said quietly. "What are the chances he'd notice me, anyways? I'm invisible." As quietly as he could, which wasn't too hard for him, he tiptoed up the stairs to France's room. Even though it had been years since he had last been here, he had the house memorized like the back of his hand. He made his way down the slightly worn hardware floor to the end of the hall, where there was a bright red door. It was France's room. He remembered going there whenever he had a nightmare as a kid. "France… France, are you alright?" He knocked three times, but got no response. Instead the door gave way beneath his fist, so he slowly crept inside. France sat alone on his bed, crying into a tissue softly.

"…France?" Canada asked, placing his hand on France's shoulder.

"Zut alors!" France turned with a start. "You should knock first, Canada!" He hurriedly wiped his eyes and feigned a smile. "Sorry to keep you waiting… it'll be a moment and-"

"France!" Canada interrupted. "I'm not as stupid as you think I am. Please… tell me what's wrong."

"How did you become so smart?" France answered with a sigh. "Fine… I'll tell you. Have you ever heard of Jeanne D'Arc? Or… in English it would be Joan of Arc."

"It sort of sounds familiar… England brought her up a few times. He said something about her being a witch or a bad guy…" France cringed at the mention of England.

"Makes sense. That bastard would say something like that; she was an enemy of England during the Hundred Years' War. To France, she's a heroine. She's even a saint now."

"Did you know her?" Canada asked.

"Did I know her? I didn't just know her, I _loved _her! But she was a woman of god… she was incredibly devout. In fact, it was her faith that helped lead us to victories back then. So I never told her how I felt. I didn't want to cause her any problems." He began to tremble.

"France… what happened to her?" Canada placed his hand on top of Frances in attempt to calm him down.

"She was arrested by the English and was found guilty of witchcraft. She was burnt at the stake on this date." He paused for a moment and shook more. "You know what I find funny about her god? She did nothing but helped him, and he let threw her away like a useless piece of firewood. …Canada listen to me: don't even attempt to fall in love. It's not worth the pain you'll go through later. It doesn't matter if it's with a human or a nation… they can both easily disappear without warning… I learnt my lesson the hard way."

"What are you saying?" Canada shouted. "You're the nation of love! The flirt! How could you say something like that?"

"Oh, that?" France chuckled. "That's been my nickname for forever. And sex and love are two completely different things."

"But…" Canada didn't know what to say. It was hard… impossible to believe that France, the self-proclaimed "nation of love" could be so cynical when it came to the subject. "France, Jeanne wouldn't want you to keep beating yourself up like this because of her. She's probably in heaven now and-"

"You honestly think I still believe in God or a heaven at this point?" France interrupted in a harsh whisper.

"France…" Canada held both of France's hands in his and smiled. "Part of being a nation is moving forward, no matter what happens. Every nation has to face loss and lose close ones. America has, England has, so has China and Russia and Japan… even I…"Canada trailed off and strengthened his grip. "What matters is moving on for a better future and to do what you can for the sake of your people. I mean… think of all of the things you have now… and all of the opportunities you have in the future. You're an awesome person, France, and I'm sure you'll find your love again."

"Oh, Canada…" France said, ruffling Canada's hair. "How did you become such a sweet person? Come on… I want to take you out somewhere."

* * *

><p>After getting dressed and fixing his hair, France headed out and took Canada with him. During the walk, France hardly spoke a word, which was doing nothing for Canada's nerves. France finally stopped by the Seine.<p>

"Come on, Canada" France said as he got off the sidewalk and trudged towards the waters.

"Wait, we're not going in, are we?" Canada asked nervously.

"Of course not! I can't let my beautiful clothes get dirty, can I?" They walked up to the banks of the river where France knelt down in the dirt.

"Are we allowed to be here?" Canada questioned skeptically.

"I'm a nation; I can do what I want." France answered. He began to dig a small hole in the ground beneath his feet.

"What are you doing?"

"You'll see." As soon as it was deep enough, France pulled the small, clover hair clip from his pocket. "Do you know what this is?" Canada shook his head. "It was a birthday gift I gave Jeanne all those years ago." He threw it into the hole and began to refill it with dirt.

"Are you sure you want to get rid of that? I mean… isn't it important?"

"Oui… but I think it's about time she get a proper burial." He packed the last bits of undisturbed earth down and placed a small, golden crucifix on top of it. Engraved upon the cross were the words "Mon amour. Maintenant et pour toujours (My love, now and forever)". France stood up and dusted off his hands. "I'm sorry for mistaking you for her earlier."

"What? Oh… it's fine. I'd rather be mistaken for someone other than America for once…" Canada replied modestly. "I'm sorry about her."

"It's alright. I'll love her forever but…" France stopped and gently grabbed Canada's chin. "I think I've found someone who will love me back." Without another word, he pulled Canada into a gentle kiss.

"F-France…" Canada stuttered as soon as it was over.

"Hm?"

"J'taime. (I love you)" Canada looked down, his face as red as blood. France grinned and grabbed Canada's hand.

"I know of a good café near by. My treat, mon cheri. (My cherished one)" The two walked away from the makeshift grave, a place that would be as untouched as the impression Jeanne had left upon France's heart.

* * *

><p><em>AN: OMG! I'm back! It's been what? 5 days since I last posted something? ...I need a life. BAD. Franada. It's one of my OTPs. But it has no love! I freaking love this pairing... waaah. I guess people don't like it because they can't see Canada... *shot* Anyways, I hope this story wasn't too tacky or cheesy. And I hope my french was okay. I'm in French 2, so my French is not perfect. If you see anything wrong, let me know! _


End file.
